


ashes to ashes, we all fall down (i wanna hear you sing the praise)

by Anonymous



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Horror, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Vampires, toreador fledgling plays with his food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26604187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Bach stares right into the jagged ice of his eyes and musters the most final gravity he can. “Send me to the Heavenly Father, devil, and be done with this.”The vampire’s laugh chimes, clear and resonant with genuine mirth and genuine enthusiasm. “Oh, I don’t think I will, Grünfeld,” he says, and—it is a quick, sinuous motion with which he straddles Bach, hands on his chest, knees to either side of his waist.Resting more of his weight on his palms, against Bach’s ribs, the predator leans in until there is nowhere left to recoil from his beautiful, terrible face. “Do you know,” he says, voice a low, low rumble, “what we Kindred call our feeding?”
Relationships: Fledgling/Grünfeld Bach
Kudos: 10
Collections: Anonymous





	ashes to ashes, we all fall down (i wanna hear you sing the praise)

At the very least, Brother Grünfeld Bach will not have died without a fight.

Though his blood boils still in the heat of righteous fury, his body will move no more, rifle and sword alike wrenched from his hands and cast to the concrete floor stories below; the demon fledgling ascends the last step up to the catwalk landing, triumphant and terrible. 

Of the demonspawn, this one hails from their ranks of tempters, seducers, beautiful as the apple in the Garden of Eden. Bach has killed many like him in his lifetime, and this one hardly distinguishes himself from his predecessors in appearance: crimson hair, eyes like frosted ice, features sculpted as if by Michelangelo himself. Were it only that he had followed suit in falling to bullet or blade as well—

Bach grits his teeth against the surge of bitterness washing through his battered form and bleeding over his coat with every breath he draws. Enough. He has lived a long life in service of the Lord, has sent hordes of Satan’s spawn back into the fiery maw of the pit. If the Apocalypse does break over Earth, it will not be his fault; the rest must be left to his fellow faithful. So he closes his eyes, begins to pray, and waits for the vampire’s final blow.

Footsteps ring on the grating of the catwalk. No bullet nor blade pierces him, but there is a moment of silence and then a voice not so far from his face. “Grünfeld Bach,” the demonspawn enunciates in his velveted, cloying voice. “If I recall, that's who you introduced yourself as back in Grout's mansion.”

There is neither haste nor reason to answer, and Bach finishes silent recitation of his prayer before opening his eyes to glare resolutely up into his once-prey's unliving visage. “You will find none to harm further under the Bach name, demon, and I am but one instrument of the Lord's will. Whether I smite you or He does, it makes no difference.”

The demon smiles at him, glittering fangs and malice. It's a sight that would curdle his stomach had he not made up his mind to resign himself, that almost does regardless. “Well, that's not very nice. Maybe I just thought it was a pretty name.” He's crouched just next to Bach, perched neatly on the toes of his boots, face close enough to follow the faint, already-fading scar where a bullet had missed his skull closely enough to tear open his cheek. “Don't you want to hear my name too?”

“No.” Bach makes no attempt to clip short the stabbing venom of the word.

Unbothered, the demon (for no spawn of Satan needs a _name_ meant to reach human ears) runs his fingertips lightly through his rose-red hair. An idle motion, a habitual motion, standing testament to his vanity. One more reason he will burn at the end of days. “Well, that’s too bad. Suit yourself.” His eyes rove over Bach, like greedy fingers combing through beach sand. “You have quite the faith, Grünfeld. I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit I’m impressed.”

A sense of ill foreboding is beginning to gnaw at Bach’s gut. He should have been dead minutes ago. The demon’s praise, the demon’s eyes—something is wrong. Something is wrong. God protect his soul where his body could not be saved.

Though he says nothing, his once-prey peers into him and drinks in the silence as if it bears some cipher in its negative space. His smile creeps wider over sharp fangs, gleaming fangs, like those of the serpent in the Garden of Eden. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? Don’t tell me you can’t take a compliment.”

Bach stares right into the jagged ice of his eyes and musters the most final gravity he can. “Send me to the Heavenly Father, devil, and be done with this.”

The vampire’s laugh chimes, clear and resonant with genuine mirth and genuine enthusiasm. “Oh, I don’t think I will, Grünfeld,” he says, and—it is a quick, sinuous motion with which he straddles Bach, hands on his chest, knees to either side of his waist.

Thrash. Shout. Struggle with all his might to be spared this last indignity, whatever it may be. These are the things that Bach should do. They are not the things he does do. There is not much he can do, abruptly petrified by dread and frantic revulsion as he is. 

(And yet, comes the hiss from a thought that does not feel like his own, what is so revolting about this? The demon is a young man of his prime years, lovely in his features, in his build, in his bearing. Any would be honored to be so close to him. Any would be honored to be touched by him.)

Resting more of his weight on his palms, against Bach’s ribs, the predator leans in until there is nowhere left to recoil from his beautiful, terrible face. “Do you know,” he says, voice a low, low rumble, “what we Kindred call our feeding?”

Bach manages to find his own voice, hoarse and fevered as it is. “Exsúrgat Deus et dissipéntur inimíci ejus, et fúgiant qui odérunt eum a fácie ejus—”

The demon silences him with his own lips. A kiss. Soft, smooth lips with inhuman force and no body heat behind them. For a single fraction of a second, Bach is aware of this, and then he is suddenly distant, an observer of his own body.

There is an abstract, hollow kind of horror to watching the demon pull slowly away and chuckle as a third party in this thoroughly wretched moment. “Well, that takes a bit of the impact out of it, but we call it the Kiss. The ultimate connection of Kindred and Kine, your sustenance becoming ours.”

Supple, powerful hips roll against Bach’s own. Why? Why? He is an old man. He had never been an attractive man even before his vow of celibacy. So why this creature, gorgeous and _horrible_ , making a toy of his body as if it is something to be desired? Why is it being allowed to do so?

(Why does some buried, creeping certainty insist it needs no permission?)

“As you can imagine,” the demon, the vampire, the seducer, the greatest evil Bach can comprehend in this moment, purrs in his ear, “it feels _fantastically_ good.”

“God punish you,” Bach rasps. “God damn you to the lowest fires of Hell.”

The vampire nods and kisses the side of Bach’s jaw. Mockery of sincerity, mockery of affection. “Oh, certainly.” Sin. Mortal sin. “But you’re coming down with me.” 

And that mocking veneer fades for a moment, tears away like the temple veil from a malice no less than that of Satan himself, as the vampire murmurs against his throat: “Born of Eve, knowing the taste of the Fruit’s original sin, your flesh won’t resist nearly so readily as your faith.” A grin against his rapid pulse. “Want to see how long that faith holds out?”

For the very last time, Brother Grünfeld Bach begs God’s mercy, because the demon fledgling in its triumph over him has none.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't think bach is attractive but i do think he would be fun to break


End file.
